The streets were empty. Huray and Emma crossed into them as the rain thickened—no longer falling, but striking, each dropping a deliberate blow from a sky that had turned hostile.
Then—CRACKLE. A flash split the heavens, freezing them mid-step.
In that blinding instant, it appeared.
A creature—dark, insectoid, ribs exposed like a cage of broken promises. Water streamed down its face, dripping from mandibles that twitched with hunger. It let out a scream—not loud, but wrong. A sound that didn't echo, but fractured the silence like a memory being torn apart.
It lunged at Emma, mandibles yawning wide.
Huray moved without thought.
He stepped between them, hand flashing to his side. The sword hissed free, catching the rain mid-air. Steam rose from the blade as it met the creature's forearms.
SLASH.
The creature froze—suspended in motion, limbs twitching, unable to overpower the force that met it.
Huray stood firm, rain sizzling against his shoulders, blade humming with residual heat.
Emma stared, breath caught. The creature staggered back, its scream now muted—less rage, more recognition.
Huray smiled. "Ha, you're not as tough as—"
CRACK.
The creature's tail whipped sideways, a blur of bone and sinew. It struck Huray's ribs with the force of a collapsing building.
He staggered, breath stolen, a cough tearing loose—red against the rain.
"Ah," he wheezed, grinning through the pain. "You've got tricks."
Steam hissed from the wound. The creature didn't advance—it watched, mandibles twitching, tail coiled like a question.
Huray's smile widened. "I guess I finally put my new training to work," he muttered, coughing harder—red spilling onto the pavement like memory. His knees buckled, but he didn't fall. Liquid dripped from his side, mixing with the rain. His face turned grim. He raised the blade again, steady despite the pain. "Let's get started," he said calmly. Huray charged forward, electricity crackling along his blade—each arc a vow.
The creature lunged—faster this time, limbs blurring, tail slicing through the air like a question answered in violence.
Huray met it head-on.
His blade sang with electricity, each arc a memory of nights spent training while Ethan slept. The steel didn't just cut—it judged.
SLASH. CRACK. A burst of light. A scream that didn't echo.
The creature reeled, chest split open—ribs no longer a cage, but a confession. Steam poured from its wound, mixing with the rain in a hiss that sounded like surrender. Huray stood over it, breath ragged, blade lowered.
Emma stepped forward, voice barely audible. "You trained for this." She said her face petrified Huray didn't answer. He didn't need to.
As the rain softened, Huray fell to his knees, as he got back up.
"We need to keep moving," Huray coughed, voice fraying. He tripped back down, pain stinging through his lungs.
"Are you sure you can keep going?" Emma asked, her voice low, almost pleading. As he gets back up and stumbles toward the forest,
"I can make it. Every second we waste is another chance for him to kill her." Huray exclaims clutching his chest.
If you insist. But at sunrise, we stop—no matter what" Emma says her orbital body looking down, As she floats toward him. Behind them, the creature lets out a sound—not pain, not rage. A call. A memory. Emma turned, but didn't speak.
"Okay, We will survive, Anything " Huray exhales, at the same time they make it to the forest, they follow the path into the darkness, They stretch through it for hours. All of a sudden… Huray collapses to the ground
Far behind, in the rain-soaked silence, a figure stepped from the shadows. She didn't flinch at the creature's form. She knelt
As Huray collapses, her glow dims—symbolizing emotional strain or spiritual tethering.
Emma's light flickered. Not from damage, but from fear. "Rest," she whispered. "I'll keep watch."